


Whumptober 2020

by Cleothare



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is a BAMF, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Blood and Injury, Collars, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a BAMF, Demon Summoning, Feral Crowley (Good Omens), Flying, Gen, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, M/M, Not Beta Read, Other, Other demons mentioned, Panic Attack, Robbery, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Sleep Deprivation, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Sorry Not Sorry, Summoning, Summoning Circles, Torture, We're all over the place here folks, Witchcraft, eldritch horror Crowley, falling, first draft, truth spell, whumptober2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:40:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26808277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleothare/pseuds/Cleothare
Summary: A (prospective) collection of (mini?) fics, probably all Good Omens by the end of it, fulfilled for Whumptober/Fictober 2020.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Prompt 23: Sleep Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> Here goes nothing, folks. I've never tried to churn out this many words and complete shorts (ever?) in one go (ever.) before, but wish me luck and hold onto your hats because we're going for it.

At 2:02 in the morning in a cottage in South Downs, an alarm started blaring.

Well, to be more specific, a rather large quantity of alarms started blaring, one in nearly each room of the cottage. To which end, one (1) angel and one (1) demon were startled. 

Crowley woke up at the first blare of the alarm system in a panic. His poor sleep-addled brain was quick to try and boot hit system up, but deftly managed to blue screen on startup several times before fully cycling on in SafeMode. An intruder? Hell? Heaven? An actual wake-up alarm? Was he in a hotel, and what the devil -- what the heaven -- what on _Earth_ would possess someone to make _that_ their wake-up alarm? Without quite all of his limbs working yet, Crowley shoved his blanket cocoon aside and stumbled towards the bedroom door.

"An-angel?!" He managed to get out. It seemed his tongue was getting in the way; a tad too serpentine for human syllables yet. "Wh--whuh?"

Fortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale, who had by this point divested himself of his book and place in the library to mount the stairs to the bedroom, was well-versed in SnakeMumble, and rather had a good grasp on the situation as a whole to anticipate the question.

"Nothing to worry about, my dear. The alarm system seems to be going off and I while I cannot quite discern what managed to set it off in the first place, I intend to have it sorted out in a moment." 

He was already walking to the access panel in the hall (one of several in the cottage, but also the master panel), where he punched a keypad and the alarm silenced immediately.

"See? All settled." Aziraphale said, and turned to Crowley, who had by this point only barely sorted himself fully upright and was leaning on the door frame as nonchalantly as a more-asleep-than-awake humanoid could manage.

"Mmm" He grunted, still struggling with the feel of his tongue and the brain-to-mouth connection.

"You can go back to sleep now if --" Aziraphale started, but was cut off by the alarm system as it resumed its caterwauling. "Oh now _really_." Aziraphale chastised as he turned back to the console. " _Do_ behave." He punched the number pad again, but nothing happened, nor did it work when he pressed it again more firmly.

Behind him Crowley groaned. Aziraphale spared him a glance and took in his rather disheveled appearance and downright petulant look. The poor snake seemed to be struggling with sensory overload. "Oh I am terribly sorry, but this dratted thing has seemed to stop responding."

"Lemmehavugho" Crowley mumbled, and physically projected himself from the doorway to the panel. 

His eyes didn't seem to be focusing, and it was convenient to blame it on the sudden shift from utter darkness of sleep to the harsh light of the overhead lamp. Nevertheless, he situated his face very close to the pad as he tried to make the shapes stop swirling.

Crowley, having pressed the button, and then pressed it again more firmly (what else was one supposed to do when a button didn't respond but try again, harder?) before exclaiming in exasperation and turning to Aziraphale with an accusatory look.

"Well I certainly didn't put it up to this," Aziraphale said in response. Crowley narrowed his eyes, but conceded the point.

"I'll jus' mir'cle it," Crowley slurred, and raised his hand to snap his fingers. Which managed to do.... absolutely nothing. "Mmmmm," Crowley pouted and looked at Aziraphale.

"It might be that a demonic interference set it off? An old cohort sneaking around?" ( _don't sneak, we lurk,_ Crowley thought uselessly, but had enough sense to not try to verbalize the thought. His brain still seemed to be a bit more fluid than his mouth was able to manage at the moment.) Aziraphale copied Crowley's movement and snapped is fingers to silence the alarm, to similar avail.

"I ... don't understand..." Aziraphale grumbled, stepping closer to the console to look at it intently. "That should have worked."

"'Dunno... may'be we call the... the whassit... the numb'r. That one." Crowley pointed to the phone number listed on the panel.

"That's... Well, that's for the humans to use when a normal alarm goes off. Ours is certainly not a normal alarm, it's made to detect unwanted ethereal or occult forces and limit their power onsite."

"Yeaaah," Crowley allowed, "but we're also ethereal and occult. Maybe it thinksss we're..." he struggled to find the word and chose silence and simply scowled until something came to mind, "...bad? Not ssssuppos'd to be here?"

"Perhaps," Aziraphale acceded. "In that case I suppose we _should_ call this number." At which point Aziraphale turned to Crowley expectantly.

"Me?"

"Yes. You rather are the technological genius you say you are, are you not? Surely this is more your milieu than mine." Crowley couldn't argue that point, and though he still felt a little like he had cotton in his eyes and blinders on his ears (was that reversed? gah, who cared), he stumbled to the bedroom for his phone and dialed the number to try to persuade the security representative to shut off the alarm.

"I'm sorry we can't do that without the proper access code," the young man on the other end of the line said. "If you can't verify the account information to me, or provide me with the access code, I legally cannot disengage the system."

"There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding," Aziraphale interjected at Crowley's downright mournful face. The alarms had not stopped blaring, and after 15 minutes of constant noise it just seemed to get louder and more aggressive, rather than fade into something they could tune out. "We never actually set up an account with your company. The system was here and we've never used it through you folks before." 

This was, Crowley reflected, technically entirely accurate. They may have hopped onto the system that was already in place, thinking that the clever humans had created a rather nice mechanism, but they had never even considered reaching out to the security company to have them handle any aspect of the system.

"All I can tell you," came over the mobile, "is that this account has been in our system for nearly 12 years, and if you cannot provide the owner's access codes, I simply cannot help you." 

"But WE'RE the owners!" Crowley snapped. "WE own it! How -- how can... who do you think it is?? That has th'code?"

There was a moment of silence on the line in light of this outburst, and Crowley began to feel bad for snapping at the kid - even before Aziraphale caught his eye with a Look that meant "We Do Not Be Mean To Customer Service Workers, And You Know That."

"Do you know a George Wilson?" came over the speaker, and Aziraphale and Crowley shared a much plainer look before Aziraphale's eyes lit up.

"Oh, oh yes! That was the previous owner!"

"Well it _seems_ here that Mr Wilson never deactivated his account with us, and while it looks like there hasn't been a payment in awhile, he had paid for a contract in full at the time of purchase, so it may be that this account is needlessly active and simply running out the current remaining balance on the contract."

"Well that is good news!" Aziraphale said, entirely too bubbly for 2:23 in the morning for Crowley's tastes. "So you can close that account and we can be on our way back to bed."

"Not... ah, not entirely I'm afraid." Crowley wilted. "As I said before, I am legally not permitted to alter the account without the access code or account holder on the line. So you would have to get in touch with Mr Wilson and have him contact us, or give you the code. I can also try calling the number we have on file here, if you would like to wait on the line?"

"Oh, oh yes please," Aziraphale said, beginning to sound as downtrodden as Crowley felt.

"Hold please," came over the line, and then came the wait music.

"I jus' wanna ssssleep," Crowley said quietly to Aziraphale. He wasn't quite _asking_ for sympathy, but Aziraphale was _very_ good at it, being a literal angel and all, and it was Crowley's prerogative to take full advantage of that these days. "Wass allcomfy... warm."

"I know dear, but, well, we'll just have to sort this out first. Hopefully George Wilson is up at this hour," (dubious,) "and this whole alarm nonsense will sort itself." (Highly unlikely.)

"ugggghhh. The.... but the.... _he"_ Crowley gestured at the phone, struggling to think of the word that meant person-on-the-other-end-of-the-phone's-job-title, "says it's not... ah... not..." what was the word that meant... not going to happen? but only mostly or sometimes? not-happenable? .... "likely. Not likely."

Aziraphale looked equal parts put upon at having to decipher Crowley's words as he was concerned and empathetic to how tired he must be.

"My dear, I do believe you need to go back to sleep. The humans have these wonderful things called REM cycles, and you seem to have been woken up in the middle of one. I would say your corporation is malfunctioning. Perhaps you should go back to bed now and let me sort this." Crowley shrugged.

"Can't with the..." he raised his hand, simultaneously noticing he was listing hard against the wall and his eyes were more closed than open, and gestured erratically, "with the boopboopboopboop stuff."

"Quite," Aziraphale replied with a look that, to Crowley's half-squint, looked like he had bit into one of those sour things. Opposite of grapefruit. Lemon. Bit into a lemon.

"Sirs?" Came the voice of the sales rep over the line. "I'm terribly sorry, but I can't seem to get Mr Wilson on the phone. If you have a way to get in contact with him, I suggest doing that. The account is still listed as active and the phone number did go through, so I am required to wait his instructions to manage the system. If you do get him on the line and get the code from him, I would be happy to help you when you call us back. My extension is 7139."

Crowley tuned out the rest of the conversation and rubbed his eyes furiously. They hurt. Or itched. Or something like a headache but... in his nose? Rubbing seemed to at least feel like it was helping.

"I said, Crowley, what are we supposed to do?" Crowley snapped back to attention. It was awfully bright in here. And a tad cold.

"Uhm, we gotta... call the guy. Greg. George. Whatevers-'is-name..."

"Wilson, but I certainly don't have his number, do you?"

Crowley mulled it over. Did he have Whats'is'name's number? Should he? Did he forget to get it? "No.. but we could..." he sighed, exasperated at how hard it was to find words, "do that thing. The thing... where... circle on th'floor? Make a.. a, uh... demon...? come?"

Aziraphale didn't react. More words.

"Summoning! Make him come to us. Summoning but... opposite? human to us? or... I guess us to him? but I'm ... I don't know how... " Aziraphale cut him off.

"While that is... an _inspired_ solution, I think we may have better luck looking for his phone number elsewhere." Aziraphale began down the steps and Crowley was helpless but to follow, not the least because he was tired enough that he felt a little lost and following Aziraphale meant he didn't have to think.

"Wha--?"

"Well we may as well start with the phone book," Aziraphale said, and wandered over to a shelf that Crowley had not previously known existed. Twenty some odd minutes later -- twenty some odd _long_ minutes of constant alarm ambiance later -- they had made twelve calls to every George Wilson, Greg Wilson, George Wilton, and Greg Wilton in the greater area, to no avail.

"Whyyizit so _hard?_ " Crowley whined. He was, to Aziraphale's begrudging fondness, squatting on the floor, leaning against the bookshelf and trying valiantly to tune out the sound of the alarm, eyes closed tight.

"We'll sort it out, I'm sure," Aziraphale said, his voice tight. Crowley only groaned in response, and seemed to curl further inward on himself. He looked to be rather chilled, and Aziraphale wondered momentarily if being woken up from deep sleep left one feeling colder than average, or if that had more to do with Crowley's animal aspects.

"What if - oh Crowley - what if we removed the system entirely? Or, or turn it off?"

"Tried to turn n'off," Crowley said from the floor. "They won't let ussss."

"No, dear, what if we completely removed the alarm? Surely we don't need their permission to do that -- desperate times and all that..." Aziraphale sounded hopeful, so Crowley tried to focus.

Turn the alarm off completely? Crowley wasn't quite sure what Aziraphale meant by that, but... well, if he thought about it, maybe Aziraphale meant to... snap the system away completely?

"Could try," Crowley grumbled, and raised his hand without moving anything else -- it wasn't the most comfortable pillow, this bookshelf, but it was sufficient, and it made the wobbliness in Crowley's eyes a moot point if he could keep them closed anyway. He snapped, and felt a zap of power run up his arm like a rather large electric shock that made him jump. He hit his head on the shelf above, and if anything it seemed like the blessed alarm started going off louder.

"Crowley" Aziraphale said, and damn him if he didn't sound like he was chastising Crowley, who was clearly the primary victim here, "you know that the system is in place be _cause_ we want to stop intruders from using miracles on the premises. That was bound to happen. I'm frankly surprised it didn't happen earlier when we tried to turn the sound off. Though, I supposed trying to quiet an alarm is not as possibly malicious as removing the system altogether... "

Crowley was decidedly _not_ having a good time. His head already had felt like mush, he was having more trouble forming words than someone who had been up to the dulcet tones of a high-pitched security alarm for nearly an hour should be having, and now his right arm and his head hurt and tingled to top it off, plus Aziraphale was beginning to try to discuss the finer points of their warding, and that normally was a dry subject.

"I don't _want_ to have to _be_ here!" Not 'here' the other one... "Now! I wassss ssss _ssleeeeping, Angel!_ And I _liked_ it!" Crowley glared up at him from the floor, mad not exactly at Aziraphale, but in general.

Aziraphale pursed his lips for a moment at the outburst, but empathy won over after a moment of considering the pinpoint pupils on his poor snake's face, and the more-sad-than-angry pull of his face. He _did_ look rather put-upon. "I know, I know." He knelt down next to Crowley and touched his shoulder. "I'm sorry dearest."

Crowley leaned into the touch and closed his eyes, the wind going out of his sails in the face of Aziraphale's affection. 

"Sssssorry," he said, and Aziraphale knew it was a testament to how exhausted he was that the demon even managed to say the word at all. It was not quite in Crowley's nature to be comfortable with apologies, thanks, and help yet, even given their circumstances post-Apocanope. 

"Maybe we should try to stick to human solutions to human problems. What would a human do in this predicament?"

"Prolly... cut the" here Crowley make a cutting gesture with his hand to indicate scissors, but which did little to help Aziraphale deduce what exactly he intended to cut, "the... string thing... but 'lectric."

"String thing but electric...?"

"WIRE. The wire. Cut th'wire."

"What a marvelous idea! Let's try that!"

Aziraphale coaxed Crowley into standing, convincing him that Crowley's expertise as resident professional robber/haver-of-heists was invaluable in this instance. They pulled the front of the box off the wall, and examined the wiring, which was significantly less complicated that film would lead one to believe.

"Which one do we cut?" Aziraphale asked, and turned his head towards Crowley, who looked like he was manually reengaging his focus every few seconds.

"Umm, the... Blue...?"

"Are you sure?"

"... yeah. Absssolutely. Blue."

They cut the wire, and instant silence fell in the cottage. Aziraphale looked to Crowley, who was beginning to grin easily. They walked down the stairs and to the sofa, where they both sat down, a little shell shocked from the night and enjoyed the utter silence around them.

Until thirty seconds passed, and the alarms in the rest of the house reengaged at what seemed to be a higher decibel than before. Aziraphale felt rather put out - some might say enraged - and Crowley looked as though he may actually burst into tears at the sound, slumping down and curling forward like he very much wanted to pull himself out of existence just this moment.

"Maybe we can find some information about this online?" Aziraphale asked, grasping at straws.

Crowley shook his head, rasping, "no good now we've cut the wire. Sssset them all off differently. Thinksss we're under attack.."

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "I... I don't know quite what else we can do tonight then... Maybe we should just get a room for the night? Or, well, we could always pop over to London to the shop until this is sorted?"

"No. I'm not driving tonight, and you are definitely not driving. But I have a last-resort plan." There was a new glint in Crowley's eyes that looked a lot like desperation, and Aziraphale had a split moment to worry over this before Crowley was holding his mobile to his ear. "Exssstension 7139, right?"

"No, Crowley, do _not_ tempt that young man, he may lose his job if you influence him, and I will _not_ stand for that." Crowley did not acknowledge Aziraphale, whether out of rebellion or because he was clearly trying to turn down his snakish lisp was unclear.

"Yes, hello, Mark? ... We spoke two hours ago... Yes, the house with the 12-year contracted alarm system. We're... ah, we're ssstill having trouble with the alarm..."

"Stop this instant you fiend, you've been warned," Aziraphale cut in, making sharp eye contact with Crowley, who dutifully continued to ignore him.

"Would..." Here Crowley sighed heavily and some of the charm in his voice dropped, leaving a tone that was a lot more open than Aziraphale had expected.. "Lisssten, I know, _I know_ you can't legally disengage the alarm, but... but could you at least tell us to turn off the noise? It's just... we're... I'm just _so tired_ and the alarm is _still going_... It's been more than two hours and it just.... we're losing our minds over here and we can't... is there anything?" Here Crowley shot a nervous glance in Aziraphale's direction before canting his body away from the angel, pulling his shoulders up, as if he could hide the sound of his voice. "Please? _Please._ Help?"

Aziraphale was stunned. Demons do not - his demon especially did _not_ use the word 'please' or explicitly ask for help. Oh, his demon had his own way of decidedly _not_ asking for help, but even that was something infrequent at best, and frankly required a great deal of prior knowledge of Crowley to follow.

Over the phone, Aziraphale heard the representative respond after a lengthy, tense pause.

"Why Mr Wilson, I understand you need to temporarily disable your system. I'm just going to have to transfer you to a different representative as I am unable to personally do that for you. I would strongly suggest asking for a one-time code until you can call us back in the morning to reset the system. Please note that a temporary system password and reset is only good for 12 hours. I'm going to transfer you now."

"Thank you," Crowley said with incredible sincerity. "Thank you sssso much, I appreciate it." The line shifted to a new wave of hold music, and Crowley turned back to face forward on the sofa, and rubbed his eyes firmly with his free hand until a new voice was on the line.

"Hello, Mr Wilson? My colleague has asked me to get you a temporary passcode to disable to system for 12 hours, and tells me he has already confirmed your identity. Could you please tell me your address?"

Crowley rattled off the address and slowly slumped down in the seat cushion, his eyes closed.

"Alright, we're going to need to verify a couple things about the system. It looks like one of the panels is not responding at all"

"Yesss, that would be the one we damaged. It'sss the main panel"

"Understood. In that case, I'm going to have to remotely turn the alarm off with your temporary passcode rather than have you do it onsite."

"Okay," Crowley said, listing slowly to his right, where Aziraphale was watching him intently, still a little stunned that his snake was being quite so earnest and compliant on the phone. If sleep deprivation was the means to this end, Aziraphale may have to consider it as an option for holiday gatherings in their future...

The alarms stopped blaring, and silence fell in the cottage.

"Thank you," Crowley nearly mumbled in response to something Aziraphale didn't hear, too focused on the new silence. Crowley's eyes were still closed, and he didn't seem to notice that he was nearly on his side, holding his phone up to his ear as much as his phone was holding up his head.

"You too. Goodnight. Thank you again," Crowley said, in possibly the most heartfelt tone Aziraphale had ever heard him use to a human.

He pulled his mobile from his ear, hung up and dropped it to the couch cushion (whereupon landing it promptly slipped to the floor, but Crowley considered that to be a problem for later.). 

"They need the real George Wilsssson to call tomorrow. Actually clossse the account..." He mumbled in Aziraphale's general direction.

"Very well," Aziraphale said, his voice unreadable to Crowley.

"He can use his real code. But we should prolly find out what it issss in cassse we need to know it later...."

"Of course," Aziraphale replied, sounding a bit more far away than Crowley thought he should, but maybe he was just tired. And cold, now that he thought about it. Tired and cold, and just basking in the silence like it was the Sun over stone; the perfect kind of sleeping situation for a snake. 

This was about the time Crowley stopped stitching the seconds together, and let his mind let go of the shifting of the old house, the insects chattering outside despite the hour. Until:

"Here you are." Came Aziraphale's voice, from what seemed like a lot closer than it had been a minute(?) ago, and Crowley was covered in something soft and warm, and almost undoubtedly tartan. Shame that he was just a bit too far tired to contest it just this minute. It could wait until he got up.

Aziraphale meanwhile, was tucking his demon in with the warmest tartan throw he could miracle up, wrapping him up securely and cozily.

Aziraphale stayed his hands as they drifted over Crowley's shoulders, before gently carding them through his hair. Crowley seemed to relax further into the feeling. He was very nearly, Aziraphale thought, all the way asleep.

"Sleep, and dream of whatever you like best," he Spoke softly, willing it to be as Crowley drifted off finally, two and a half hours after the beginning of this horrid adventure.

Aziraphale continued to run his fingers over Crowleys' head, marveling at the _just a little bit of a good person_ now sprawled across his lap and curling into his hip. He reached for his book and took up his guard to watch over Crowley's sleep. The poor thing needed his rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on the TRUE STORY of what literally happened to me on Wednesday night (technically Thursday morning). I was entirely incoherent on the phone, and I was nearly in tears by the end of the adventure. George (name changed) is my landlord, and he did not pick up his phone for any of the 12 phone calls I made to him over the course of that time. [before you sound off on me, please know that he is generally a nocturnal entity, so I was relatively sure that he would be up]. 
> 
> At any rate, the alarm company installed in my rental did NOT disable the alarm for us (legally they cannn't), but the DID suggest we take a gander at youtube and "see if we could find out how to turn the alarm off, even for the night." Gods bless the folks working those phone lines at 3am, you know?


	2. Alternate Prompt: Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the age-old "Crowley goes flying and panic attacks themself right tf out of the sky" trope.
> 
> I don't even care; I love it. Here's some whump. *blows kisses*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Whumptober2020 Alternate Prompt 2: Falling

At the Dowling Estate, even the live-in staff members had the occasional weekend to themselves. On one particular Saturday, Crowley and Aziraphale had taken the afternoon walk the countryside and recount any major events of the week to each other. It was the best way to be sure to avoid prying ears and eyes, but it often led to them wandering rather farther from their starting point than they intended. On this particular Saturday, it was at the apex of this wandering that they noticed the rather angry-looking storm clouds rolling in.

"I don't think we'll make it back to the car before that opens up," Crowley had said, pointing blithely at the sky.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to miracle the Bentley to us, then," Aziraphale had said, which set Crowley off, who insisted that the Bentley as _not_ to be miracled under _any circumstance whatsoever_. (Aziraphale found this hypocritical of Crowley, who he had known to miracle the car to do many things, not least of all was defying physics and petrol requirements, but he knew better than to push the subject.)

"In that case, we'll be best served by flying, I think. Been awhile, and it may be nice to stretch the wings anyway."

Crowley, in retrospect, had paled at the thought, but Aziraphale had thought it had more to do with the weather than... well, anything else.

"Er, maybe we just walk it after all. Those clouds are probably going to hold off for another hour or so... probably. I think I'll just walk..." And with that Crowley turned on her heel and started up the road.

"Now, don't be absurd; it makes more sense to fly back!" Aziraphale had called after her, pulling his own wings from the ether and stretching them a bit to loosen them up. Crowley feigned ignorance of Aziraphale's words and the heatwave from manifesting his wings, and Aziraphale realized she was serious about walking all the way back. "Don't be a spoilsport, Crowley! A good bit of exercise is just what we need, cooped up in these corporations and that estate all week - all _year_ , as it's been!"

It is worth noting that Aziraphale was not necessarily fond of corporeal exercise, but he _had_ been a Principality, and there was still something incredibly satisfying in his mind about a bit of ethereal cardio now and again. And if it could lead to a bit of a competition? Well, he's been known to be competitive from time to time. At the very least it would be an easy task to report to Up There if he won; "Bested the Adversary in Battle; My physical prowess and the might of Her Will gave me the edge I needed to best her."

"Or would you rather I fly back and drive the Bentley to you? I'm sure she'll open up for me, I rather think she's beginning to like me...!" Crowley stopped in her tracks, and turned to scold Aziraphale, undoubtedly with something along the lines of "don't you touch my baby, she's mine to drive and I'll not have you bumbling around in there" -- but before she could get that far, Aziraphale spread his wings and took off.

"Meet you on that blind bend up ahead, I'll be there in two shakes with the car," Aziraphale goaded, and was gone. He was no fool, and he knew that Crowley would be unable to let that sort of perceived threat to the Bentley go uncontested. 

Crowley appeared in the air with him not too long after, her wings appearing darker in the dimming light than Aziraphale knew they were.

"Let's just get this over with, then" she said, and pushed a bit faster towards the general direction they'd left the car.

"Fancy a competition?" Aziraphale asked, invigorated by the heaviness of the air. "Race you to the Bentley, loser takes the next pair of miracles from Head Office?"

"I'd rather not wrinkle this shirt," Crowley replied, as if she couldn't just miracle it pressed again. "It's not even that far anyway."

"Spoilsport," Aziraphale said, but supposed Crowley had a point. She never had been one for too much competition, anyway.

They were about three quarters of the way back to the car when the skies finally stopped their looming and began to threaten in earnest. Winds started buffeting Aziraphale, forcing him to lean into his flight a bit more aggressively than he was used to, or risk being flung about entirely. It was hard work, staying on target, and Aziraphale spared a thought for Crowley, whose corporation was not as well suited for brute force as was his.

Aziraphale turned back to see Crowley, pale in the cast of the sickly green-ish light from the storm, fists clenched, and staying her course, albeit a bit more erratically than Aziraphale.

"Are you able to fly in this, Crowley? These winds are more forceful than I thought they would be."

Crowley's expression pinched. "I'll be fine," she said, her voice sounding a bit off, but Aziraphale assumed that was from the wind distorting it. "Let's just get to the car and get home." Crowley gathered her wings a bit and changed the way she was fighting the wind to ride it instead, propelling herself forward a bit faster.

Aziraphale followed suit, closing in behind her. There was a flash of lightning nearly directly in front of them, and almost instantly a clap of thunder. From his position behind Crowley, Aziraphale saw everything as it happened.

Crowley, startled by how close the lightning had been and possibly blinded by the flash, faltered. Her pace slowed, and Aziraphale, concerned, matched it. Then came the thunder, and Crowley flinched bodily and stopped moving forward altogether, starting by hovering in the air. As she hovered, catching her breath, looking as if she were fighting the urge to mantle her wings around herself, a gust of wind overtook them, and bowled Crowley over with it's force. Which is when the skies opened up to rain.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale called, concerned that she would have a hard time righting herself if she didn't find her bearings quickly. Which is exactly what happened. Crowley looked for a moment as if she was struggling to right herself in the buffeting winds, but after a tense few seconds seemed to.... give up? She stopped struggling, and went limp, pulling her legs and arms to herself. A fetal position with wings spread wide, being flung about in the air.

"Crowley, your wings!" Aziraphale called, unsure of what else he could possibly do at this moment. "Your wings!!"

It was hard to tell if the moving ball heard him, but it _seemed_ as though Crowley pulled her arms in tighter around her legs. She followed this by stretching her wings for a moment, before collapsing them in tight around her, as if they needed protecting.

As soon as she had done this, she started to drop like a stone, and Aziraphale's heart followed. While a fall from this height may not permanently kill them, it would more likely than not discorporate them, and this was certainly _not_ the best time for Crowley to be stuck in Hell with paperwork; there was an Armageddon on. Moreover, Aziraphale simply didn't want to watch his friend discorporate, especially in pain.

"Crowley!" Azirphale shouted, and leapt into action, pulling his own wings towards himself into a controlled dive. If Crowley was not responding to reason, and not flying for some reason, well then Aziraphale would just have to do something about that.

He raced Crowley towards the ground, and managed to get his arms around her. There was a moment, when he first grabbed her, that she flinched and tried to push him away. Without time to explain or consider, let alone form words to make the point, Aziraphale grasped her more tightly and gave a little shake, like he might to a misbehaving puppy. There would be time to apologize for the manhandling later, after they had landed. Crowley continued to struggle for a breath of time, before that fight seemed to go out of her too, and she curled tighter in on herself, and went nearly limp in Aziraphale's arms.

Their safe landing was a close thing, trying to slow down more weight than his wings were accustomed to. Gently he placed Crowley on the ground, and stood back to chastise her.

"That was entirely uncalled for, Crowley," he said to the form before him. "It was absolutely not funny in the slightest, and all because you didn't want to fly back to the car. Honestly."

Crowley did not respond. She was trembling and, Aziraphale noticed, digging her fingers into her hair, without regard for the care she had taken to put it up that morning. Somewhere along the way she had lost her sunglasses, and was clenching her eyes shut tightly -- from an afterimage from the lightning?

"Crowley? Are you alright? Crowley talk to me." As if she had been waiting for permission, Crowley started spewing out words and bits of what sounded like only half of a conversation.

"Please don't....! Y-ou're wrong..... How can y-- I never meant...! I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, pleassssse....!" Aziraphale felt his eyes widen at the heartbreaking sounds coming from Crowley's lips. The demon seemed to be reliving.... well, Aziraphale was fairly certain he knew what it was, but also preferred not to speculate, at least to _try_ to give the demon some modicum of privacy.

"Crowley, Crowley listen: it's alright."

"P-please, I --- I don't...I don't want, I'm _sorry_... what...?! I'm sorryyy!"

Aziraphale twisted his hands, unsure if it would be more helpful or harmful to reach out and touch Crowley when in a state like this.

"Crowley, can you hear me?" No coherent reply. He gave it another thirty seconds before making the decision for her, and stepping up to her slowly, announcing as he went. "I'm just stepping closer to be nearer to you, dear. Nothing to be afraid of; just silly old Aziraphale, coming a bit closer. I'm going to touch you now, is that alright? If it's not alright, let me know somehow and I'll stop okay?" Aziraphale put his hand on her wrist gently, not closing around it, but tugging at it softly to pull her hand away from where it was clawing at her head. "That's it, let's put our hands down, stop hurting ourselves like that..." Crowley had frozen when Aziraphale had touched her, her whole body going rigid and the incoherent mumblings evaporated to silence.

"There you are," Aziraphale said, beaming at the watery eyes that caught his once her hands were out of the way. Her eyes were full golden, with black pupils nearly filling them, either in pain or fear, maybe some combination of both. Crowley did not respond, but Aziraphale carried on, undeterred. "Let's just get you sorted here, shall we?" He situated himself a bit closer to the demon, and circled his arm and wing around her. Her eyes watched his wing fold over her cautiously and she didn't utter a sound. "I am rather glad you are alright, you know. Gave me quite the scare there..."

"Az... Aziraphale...?" Crowley sounded uncertain, as if she was not sure where she was or what was happening. She didn't shift her gaze from over her right shoulder, seemingly mesmerized by the wing. Or perhaps confused by it.

"Yes, that's right. Are you alright dear?" Crowley didn't respond in voice or movement, just watching Aziraphale's wing over her own in a protective stance. "Well, you just take your time, I'll be right here when you get back from... ah... wherever you've gone just now." With that, Aziraphale, a bit embarrassed by how easily he had jumped into protecting his... at least on paper adversary, and was using this time to cover her in his wing like... like he intended to keep her safe?

Of course he _did_ intend to keep her safe, but it didn't quite _do_ to openly admit that or have it acknowledged, did it? So instead of addressing the situation, Aziraphale whittled the moments away recounting shared stories to Crowley. He was recounting the time Aziraphale had to take over the miracles on both sides because Crowley had gotten himself (at the time) banned from Ireland, when Crowley spoke softly:

"That Patrick was against me from the beginning, I didn't _do_ anything to him. And even if I had, banning _all_ the snakes because he had a grudge against me was incredibly petty."

"Crowley," Aziraphale breathed, relief in every fiber of his being. "You're alright."

"Yeah... yeah, I am, angel. Thanks to you, it seems.." She was still not looking at Aziraphale.

"It was nothing," Aziraphale said, acknowledging the thanks that Crowley couldn't directly say. "What... ah... what happened up there Crowley?"

Crowley tensed. "I'd rather not... talk about it, if it's all the same to you..."

Aziraphale pursed his lips. It was Crowley's prerogative, he supposed, but Aziraphale also felt he should probably know what had happened to avoid it in the future. So he swallowed and asked anyway.

"But I've seen you fly before. What was different this time?"

Crowley tensed in her shoulders, and her wings shifted a bit and resettled in response.

"Was it... was it the lightning?" Crowley didn't move; didn't breathe. "Or the thunder?"

"Please," she whispered, an echo of the heart-wrenching pleas from before. "Nn--not today. Not when it'sss.... sssso" she paused, and Aziraphale watched as she took a few breaths and composed herself again. "...so close to the surfacssse." Her face twisted into a grimace at the hiss that escaped.

"Very well," Aziraphale said. "We can put a pin in it until another time. For what it is worth, I would very much like to hear it from you --" at this a dismal, resigned look drew across Crowley's face before Aziraphale continued, "-- if only so that I can make sure you never are surprised by something like today again."

Crowley's face dropped and she looked open and... as close to delighted as someone who had very likely just relived some aspects of their Fall could look.

"I care about you Crowley," Aziraphale said, "and I'd rather prefer to keep you around if I can help it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might revisit this type of plot again. One can never have too many variations of That Moment(TM), you know?


	3. Prompt 1: Waking Up Restrained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up in a summoning circle, wrists bound, to a man who wants something he just can't give him.
> 
> Cue: summoning/spell torture, and one (1) angel saving the day.

Crowley dragged himself into consciousness with resentful awareness that he was, in fact, not where he had fallen asleep, and his hands were bound behind his back with some subpar, scratchy rope.

He cracked one eye open and took in his surroundings. A basement; small window on the far wall; set of wooden stairs going up to the right; summoning circle on the floor around him. He tested the edge of it with his foot, and felt a reverberation up his leg that made his teeth hurt. Correction: a rather well made summoning circle on the floor around him.

"Well bless it all," he said aloud, working himself into a seated position. "Not going to just wriggle my way out of this then, I guess. They even got the accent on my name right."

Crowley tried to read the runes on the ground and came to the conclusion that he may, in fact, be in some deep trouble. There were clauses in this one about binding power, forcing compliance, and several rather explicit notes about how exactly he might be burned from existence if he managed to physically harm whoever was doing the binding... 

_'At least there's no truth spell in this one,'_ he thought. _'Those really make things difficult.'_ As if this weren't difficult enough as it was.

Footfalls came down the steps, and Crowley snapped to attention. If he could get a sense of who his summoner was, he might be able to persuade them to... well, persuading to let him go never worked, but he might be able to trick them into letting him go by accident. And if all else failed, he might be able to call for help or force the issue by getting some human authorities involved...

The man who rounded the corner did not _look_ a nefarious someone who would try to force a demon to their will, but Crowley was aware that humans contained a lot of potential in them, and hardly anyone was what they seemed anymore these days.

"I see you are awake," the man said. "I was beginning to wonder if I had overdone it with the dampening spell."

"Ah... not... not per se?" Crowley said. He wasn't sure what the man was looking for in his pause. A response? A threat? Best to keep on his toes, give the mand what he wanted while Crowley figured him out.

"Hmm," the man grunted, noncommittally. "I have use for you, demon. I seek to know how to use The Word." Crowley could just _tell_ that he was capitalizing those words in his head. "I wish to be able to command those around me when I see fit, and compel them to comply where they would refuse."

Crowley wondered, sometimes, how humans came up with these ideas. As if there was some secret password that convinced people to do what you wanted. (Then again, "or else," "I'm only going to throw it away," and "one day sale/today only!" seemed to do the trick in a pinch.)

"There's not... not quite a word -- sorry, A Word -- that makes people do what you want," Crowley said, mostly thinking about the scratchy rope cutting into his wrists behind his back, and wondering what use the ropes served inside a summoning circle he couldn't even cross. Humans were really weird. "I can't teach you something I don't know."

The man's brow furrowed, and his eyes got steely - not too unlike the way Aziraphale's eyes got when someone mishandled his books. "I compel you to tell me the truth, demon, _or else_." Ah, there it was. Truth compulsion and an 'or else' in one go. Humans could really follow a script sometimes. Nevertheless, Crowley felt the binding of the circle wrap in tighter around him. It was speak or... well at the moment it felt like this might end in strangulation, but compulsions were weird and there was no real telling in the long run.

"I don't know what you mean," Crowley said, a bit breathily, as he _was_ having trouble working his throat. "There is no _Word_ that forces people to do what you want." The pressure didn't release, but it also stopped tightening on his neck and chest. Crowley would count that as a win.

"How DARE you lie to me," the man yelled. "I _KNOW_ there are ways you demons use to make humans do what you will. I _WILL_ have that information." The man paused and took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. Was he a professor of some sort? That seemed like a particular move that only professors of both graduate and undergraduate students at he same time knew how to do properly. Like truly properly. The list of people that knew how to master the bridge-of-nose-pinch consisted of two entries: Professors and one angel. 

When the man spoke again, it was with a barely-there facade of patience. "Alright then, tell me: How do _you_ make people do what you want?"

This one was easier. Crowley didn't even wait to feel the pressure of the bindings before responding.

"That's different. I Tempt them. Bit of Persuasion here, smidgeon of Doubt there, and poof! You've got a successful tempting."

"Teach me." 

"Ah... I can't?"

"I _demand_ you teach me how to do this. If I cannot forcibly compel people to do my will, I shall Tempt them to it instead." The man looked almost gleeful at the prospect. Crowley was, at this point, a bit relieved he wouldn't be able to teach the human if he wanted to; some things are really better left to occult forces, and this man was one of them.

"It's really not something you can _teach_. It's... it's a bit like.... a different language? I guess?"

"I am fluent in many languages, and I have proven that I have a level of fluency in your tongue," he gestured to the runes on the floor. (Old Enoch, thought Crowley, but who was asking.)

"Okay, but.. it's not made for humans to... ah... pronounce? might be right? You can't do it, is what it comes to. Sssssorry!" Crowley usually tried to hide his hiss, but this instance called for some flare.

"You will teach me this skill, I demand it." Fortunately for Crowley, "demand" was not the right word to activate the compulsions in the circle. Unfortunately for Crowley, he was never quite good at keeping quiet in the face of petulant humans.

"Some bodies are just not made for it. Human brains and human bodies are not made to Tempt. You ever try to teach your dog to type? It's like that."

The man's face twisted in rage, and Crowley belatedly realized that comparing someone like this to a dog may not have been the smartest move.

"You refuse to teach me this skill, when I am so clearly qualified and up to the task. I warned you what not complying would bring you." (He really didn't, Crowley thought, thinking back to the vague threatening words. "Or else" is not a clear outline of consequential outcomes.) "If you will not teach me of your own volition, I will have to convince you by other means."

A dark look passed over the man's face, and he grew silent, contemplating the runes on the floor. He started something like a chant that Crowley recognized. Crowley relaxed; No human in the past 1300 years had used that chant, and in the 800 years or so prior they had consistently gotten it wrong enough that it did nothing. In all likelihood this man would make the mistake countless others had, and botch the spell to uselessness. A few lines passed and the man gracefully pushed into the long-forgotten second verse, and correctly recited the twisting lines. Crowley's eyes widened.

"No, wait," Crowley said, beginning to panic. "Wait wait wait --" This was not going to end well, and he could feel the cords of power wrapping around him already, pulling his scales to the surface, and growing in a heat that was more akin to heavenly Grace than Hellfire. It stung, and Crowley knew it was going to get worse before it got better. Especially if this man knew the complete spell.

"Aarghh, wait, I'm telling you."

The man paused in his ministrations, and eyed Crowley coolly.

"Tell me how to Tempt people and I will stop. If you do not, I will continue with this spell until you are willing to do so."

Crowley was frantic, panicking in earnest now, so he didn't know how else to respond but with honesty. "I-- there really isn't a way to teach it -- It's... it's not made for --"

The man grunted in disappointment, and started the spell over. Crowley winced as a second set of whip-like tendrils wrapped around his ethereal form, cocooning him further. The first set was as... dim as they ever were, but this may even be worse than if the man had completed the spell the first time. As it was, the foundation was now twice as strong as it had been, and Crowley was weighing his options frantically.

The net of power surrounding Crowley shifted and settled around him until he felt nearly smothered in the burning weight of it. Head swimming and overwhelmed, Crowley tried to reason with the man, but wasn't even sure if he got a coherent word out.

"This is what you will know, until you teach me your ways," the man cut through the fog of Crowley's disorientation, and shouted something.

In an instant the net burst into flame - or some approximation of it - and Crowley screamed. It felt like he was burning from the inside out. Sharp, electric burning that he couldn't escape. Power that felt like chemical burns (Grace?) inched up every inch of his body, in a constant cycle of anticipation and torture. Immediate pain the instant Crowley grew aware of any part of his body or form. This was -- this was worse than he had ever remembered this spell being. This was something new, something worse. This was... older? Older than humanity? This felt like the shock of Falling, and the pits of sulfur...

Distantly Crowley thought he felt himself moving. He couldn't hear, couldn't be sure if he was speaking or screaming or perhaps neither. But he thought he knew what his muscles moving on their own might feel like, and if his mouth were moving, it was probably... he would be begging. Begging for the burning to stop.

Eventually it did. Or maybe Crowley's mind and body gave up. But at some point he woke up again, to the same scene he had left behind. 

"I only stopped to see if you had reconsidered." The man said. "Have you? I would prefer to give you the opportunity to do so of your own volition now. I'm not a monster."

Crowley didn't have the energy to scowl, let alone tell this man exactly what he thought of his 'not a monster.' Instead he lay where he had fallen, twisted and on his side in the summoning circle. He simply tried to catch his breath, knowing what came next.

"Hmm... pity," the man said. "Well, another round might do the trick." Crowley knew he could do it. He could make it through. He was.... he was _plucky_ at worst. If the Almighty hadn't done him in the first time, it wouldn't be some _human_ this time. It may take - Crowley cringed at the thought - a long time, but he always had more time than humans could imagine. Eventually the man would give up. Or the runes would fade and Crowley would be able to access his powers again. Something would happen, he _would_ get out. He just had to get through it first.

"Well, your choice then," the man said dismissively, and began the chant anew. Crowley tried to fight the ropes this time, see if he could shake them off as they tried to settle. It didn't work; for each length he extricated himself from, the next two were tighter when they landed, and as they shrunk and settled around him, Crowley felt more strangled than he had before, this third spell further building on the foundation of the first and second.

This time when the spell reached its zenith, Crowley couldn't even find the air to scream. Instead he writhed on the floor, mute and insensate. 

The next time Crowley woke up, the man was sitting in a folding chair in front of the circle. Some time had passed, then. Crowley didn't do more than open his eyes, too weak to try to sit up or shift.

"You didn't seem to like that one at all." He paused, as if making passing conversation with a stranger, rather than the demon he was torturing. "You know, that could be the last time we have to do that, if you like. All I'm asking is that you teach me how to Tempt like you can. I know _you_ can do it, and I know that _I_ can do it, if you would just be reasonable and show me how."

Crowley was trying to corral his thoughts into something usable. He wasn't sure anymore if he could do this for... weeks? Months? How long until a human like this lost interest in this sort of forbidden, unteachable knowledge? How long until the paint faded to non-existance, or the man died, or Crowley somehow was discorporated? He simply _had_ to get out as soon as possible, but ... what could he possibly do?

"If you aren't going to help me, then I certainly am not about to help you," the man said, scowling in that way he did when he didn't get what he wanted, like an ill-tempered child in a man's body. 

He began to chant again, and Crowley whimpered and closed his eyes. _'Anything, I'd do anything to get out of here. There must be **something.** '_ But he had no tricks up his sleeve to try, no way of convincing this man he should let him go, and no guarantee that he could even get word to anyone that might be able to help. Demons were not a cuddly lot, and any of the other demons were as likely to watch him get tortured as they were to free him and exact revenge.

A scrap of the spell caught Crowley's attention. The syntax made it sound like an invocation of (presumably Her, but with Crowley's luck it was probably an outfit of Gabriel's) power by way of... prayer? 

_'...Aziraphale...!'_ Crowley thought, and struggled to voice it. Maybe a prayer would work -- angels got them all the time, right? Maybe, just maybe, if he... prayed hard enough?

"Aziraphale.." Crowley whispered, trying to find the pattern of it. Praying was a lot like riding a bike, if riding a bike for the first time in over 6000 years were as easy as remembering with certainty if you had left the oven on or off before you left for vacation. "Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale..."

The man slowed in his recitation, but hearing nothing more than what probably sounded like gibberish, he carried on, an unstoppable force.

Like a mantra Crowley repeated Aziraphale's name, trying to infuse it with... whatever type of Thought or Power he could. Whispering, shouting, trying to _Will_ it to reach Aziraphale, and to catch his attention enough to come see what was so pressing that Crowley was _praying_ to him.

The spell's power mounted and Crowley grew more desperate. This one felt like it might ... Crowley didn't know if he could break or what that would even look like, but he didn't think he would be able to make it through this in one piece. "Aziraphale, Aziraphale, _Aziraphale, Aziraphale, AZIRAPH-"_

Crowley tried to keep calling, he _tried_ , but he was bludgeoned by the hot power ripping through him and lost sense of... everything except the pain.

Until suddenly, it stopped. It stopped so abruptly that it almost stung, in the way that warming hands up after plunging them in snow stung. It was such a sharp contrast that Crowley was unsure if he had actually died, and died for real. (A part of him was vaguely amused at the prospect, hang the consequences, because at least it meant that human wouldn't get what he wanted any time soon. He probably also had a dead corporation to clean up, which Served Him Right. Crowley hoped he panicked and called the police and had to explain the summoning circle in the basement with a dead body in it to them. Asshole.)

But that wasn't quite right. He could still feel the rope on his arms, and something cool on his face that must be the cement floor. Was that it, then? Had he passed out from the pain, and was just waking up? Another round, another staring this human down and waiting for (dreading) the start of the spell again? Crowley tried to feign unconsciousness, but the prospect of another (how many more could he take?) round of burning magic made him instinctively curl on himself, and something like a breathy whine left his throat without his permission.

A cool hand pressed against his shoulder, and a gentle voice said "It's alright, I'm here. I heard you." 

Crowley opened his eyes to Aziraphale, in the flesh, kneeling on the concrete in his pristine clothes, with a worried look on his face. The summoning circle was gone. So was the man.

"There you are," he said. "It's alright now, I'm here, you're okay. It's over."

"Aziraphale?" Crowley croaked out, his voice raw from screaming. Aziraphale reached to touch his face, and Crowley was surprised to feel Aziraphale wipe tears from his cheek. When had he been crying? Was he still? 

"I came as soon as I realized it was you. I'm sorry it took me so long, I... I had trouble pinpointing where you were at first until..." His face drew tight, "I imagine until you were a tad more desperate to be heard. I'm so terribly sorry." 

"Aziraphale," Crowley breathed again, taking stock. He had come. He had heard and he had come, and Crowley didn't have to go through that spell again. The shock of it all seemed to catch up with Crowley, and he stretched to lean into Aziraphale and remind himself that he was there.

"Oh Crowley," Aziraphale snapped and the binds on Crowley's wrists fell away, leaving him able to lift himself up to his knees. He swayed a bit, and Aziraphale caught his shoulders, looking him up and down intently.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere physically?" Crowley shook his head mutely. "Very well, then, let's get out of here."

"The man -- that... that man" Crowley felt exhausted, but he had to let Aziraphale know. "Cyrus's spell, he knew it... th'whole thing." Aziraphale had to do something -- erase his memory or, or something...

"He won't be a problem anymore," he said ominously, and Crowley had half-remembered visions of Aziraphale when they were still adversaries, full of Righteous Anger and Wrath and Protecting what mattered to him. 

"Right then, on your feet if you will. We're flying back to London." Aziraphale manhandled Crowley to standing, taking more than his fair share of weight. Crowley was about to (begrudgingly, mortifyingly) confess to not feeling able to move, let alone fly anywhere, when Aziraphale scooped him up bodily into his arms and started walking up the staircase.

Crowley made some sort of sound of protest, and Aziraphale rebutted him with a matter-of-fact "I'm not about to let you fly; you're in no state. As it is, you are welcome to try and force the issue, but I remind you that I was a soldier and, frankly put, I have the upper hand in this instance."

Wings were manifested and Aziraphale took off, passenger in tow. Crowley refused to acknowledge he was being carried across the skies by a literal angel like some injured lamb, but curled just a little bit tighter to Aziraphale all the same, feeling embarrassingly Safe in his arms.

"Plus," Aziraphale said over the hum of the winds, " _no one_ hurts my adversary without my say-so." 

Crowley laughed to the sky.


	4. Prompt 28: Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sneaks up on Crowley and gets a bit more than he bargained for. What's a snake without venom?

It was not often that Aziraphale could sneak up on Crowley. The demon was ever vigilant and seemed to constantly know every single thing going on around him. It was a skill that Aziraphale could fathom, and had experienced himself at times -- he had been a soldier after all, and a fair amount of soldiering had to do with situation awareness -- but could not quite achieve as a baseline the same way Crowley did.

So when the opportunity arose to sneak up on Crowley, Aziraphale took it. Some degree of childlike giddiness, he supposed, at finally getting a point in their tit-for-tat. Get back at him for all the times he appeared out of nowhere, startling Aziraphale. Karma - and an angel currently masquerading as a vessel for such - was a bitch.

Crowley was in a crowd, which may have been the reason why he was distracted enough to not twinge at Aziraphale's dimmed Presence.

Aziraphale snuck up behind Crowley through the crowd, avoiding making any pleasantries in case Crowley caught his voice on the wind, and went in for the kill.

He wrapped his hands around Crowley's eyes (glasses), pulled him backwards a little to jostle him off balance, and said in a threatening, gravely voice (he'd seen The Them do this, so he assumed it was part of the ritual), "Guess who?"

Aziraphale was not prepared for his reaction, which was to attack. In the blink of an eye Crowley had twisted from his grip, his fingers had drawn out into claws, razor sharp and black as his snake scales, his mouth shifted to accommodate a serpent-like jaw with incisors growing into long fangs. He left his glasses behind as he turned, allowing Aziraphale to make shocked eye contact with his fully-serpentine eyes and scale-dotted face as Crowley growled and raked his claws across Aziraphale's chest down to his stomach. (Aziraphale was fairly certain Crowley had intended to go for his face, but had recognized Aziraphale an instant before contact and altered his course. Not _no_ harm done, but certainly _less_ harm done.)

"Azzzsssiraphale?!" Crowley exclaimed, the word a bit jumbled around his unwieldy teeth and jaw. "Shit! Shitshitshit!" He moved to clasp Aziraphale but thought better of it, with his claws still manifested. He pulled back for a moment and closed his eyes in focus, gradually shifting back to his regular form. The instant his fingers were back to normal enough, he snapped. The crowd around them froze in place, which Aziraphale belatedly noticed was a great improvement from them panicking rather loudly about the amount of blood and -- was that ichor? That shouldn't be happening in a corporation -- dripping from his shirt down his pant leg.

"Hello dear boy," Aziraphale said, and promptly fell to his knees, a bit dizzy all of a sudden. Crowley followed suit, grabbing his shoulders and searching his face.

"Aziraphale I'm sorry! Are you okay? 'Course you're not okay. Shit! Let's get you out of here." Crowley scanned the crowd, and snapped his fingers, erasing their memories. He then stood up and gathered Aziraphale in his arms, making his way slowly from the frozen throngs. Aziraphale didn't even have the presence of mind to protest; it wasn't that Crowley _couldn't_ carry Aziraphale, but it... it just wasn't _done_. Crowley was by no means known for his strength, and while he technically could do whatever he imagined he could, carrying Aziraphale was not his standard fare. 

But Aziraphale didn't care to think about that at the moment. He felt a little numb, floaty and separate from his body, but he knew they likely needed to get somewhere sooner rather than later, and if Crowley had a plan in mind then by all means he should follow it.

"Bless it, Angel, tell me if you feel it start to burn. We don't have a ton of time, but I gotta get you someplace safer first." Aziraphale wasn't quite tracking what Crowley was talking about, but if he wanted something from Aziraphale then by all means Aziraphale would try his best to deliver. Tell him if it started to burn. That he could do.

"You have'ta keep breathing," Crowley prompted as they rounded the corner onto an empty street. "I know you don't _need_ to, but it helps in the long run." Aziraphale tried to do that, forcing breath in and out of his lungs as best he could. He felt a bit tingly in his extremities, but Crowley hadn't asked for tingles, just if it started burning.

Without anyone to witness, Crowley unfurled his wings and lifted the two of them off the ground, heading straight for --- his flat?

"I know you'd probably prefer the bookshop, but I have the antivenom at my flat," he said, and Aziraphale wondered foggily if that meant Crowley had also been hurt by something? Aziraphale felt it as Crowley dropped the time-hold on the crowd, now sufficiently out of eyesight, and shuddered as it ran through his chest in a way he hadn't ever felt Crowley's magic before.

"Ssssorry," Crowley said. "Side effect. My magic is a bit more impressing upon you at the moment. It will pass, we'll get you sorted."

They landed at Crowley's flat, on a balcony that hadn't previously been that wide, but Crowley Needed it to be so, so it was. Aziraphale noticed their landing as he opened his eyes and wondered when he had closed them.

"Still no burning?" Crowley asked, and Aziraphale twisted his head towards Crowley's shoulder in response. "Well that's something at least."

Inside the flat Crowley lay Aziraphale down and disappeared into the other room. He reappeared a few moments later with several cuttings from his plants.

"Still no burning?" Aziraphale looked blearily up at Crowley. "I need to know. If it burns I can't use this plant, we have to use a different one. It's very important." Crowley looked so worried, and Aziraphale wanted him to ... not be worried. He tried to move his arm up to touch Crowley in comfort, but couldn't move it at all. He tried to move his finger, his leg, anything at all -- and couldn't. He started to breath heavily and felt his eyes widen, adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Aah -- no, don't panic, don't panic," Crowley said, dropping the plants to the side and grasping Aziraphale's shoulders. "You've been doing so well, just calm down a bit." Aziraphale felt a little bit clearer in his head with the adrenaline kicking in -- these human corporations were good for _some_ things at least. Thinking more clearly than he had been for the past fifteen minutes or so, Aziraphale put the puzzle pieces together finally. He was poisoned, possibly bleeding out, on Crowley's living room floor, and that same demon was telling him to calm down.

"Listen Aziraphale, please! The more you panic, the more your mood shifts the worse the venom gets. You gotta breath slowly, trust me, I've got you. I just need you to slow down a bit and I can make it better; I can undo what I did, okay? Trust me."

Aziraphale did. So he closed his eyes and tried to tune out the part of his corporeal brain that told him that he needed to keep trying (and failing) to get up. Breathe in, breathe out. Crowley began applying some sort of... muddled plant to his chest, to the cuts, and Aziraphale would have jumped at the cool contact if he had had his mobility. 

"There," Crowley said after a few silent moments. "That should do it. Just need to wait a few minutes for it to sink in. Still no burning?... Err... blink once for yes burning, twice for not burning?" Aziraphale rolled his eyes and blinked twice deliberately. "Bastard angel," Crowley grinned, and sat back on his feet to wait for the plant to take effect.

"Nnnn--uuh" Aziraphale managed to get out. It wasn't the eloquent rebuttal he was aiming for, but it was better than nothing.

"Don't worry, that means it's working; you'll be all better soon. Might still need to heal that cut, but it'll just be a plain cut at that point."

"It's my fault," he said after a pause, studiously not looking at Aziraphale. "I shouldn'ta been so quick to attack. Not a lot of decent surprises from people when you're a demon, so you tend to be... jumpy." He glanced sidelong at Aziraphale's slashed chest. "And a bit of an over-reactor."

"Nnn--ot yyyou," Aziraphale tried again, feeling his muscles responding better to his direction. Maybe one more go.

"Nah, this one was definitely all me. You surprised me and I went a bit too far. I'm just glad I had the plant and we got here in time."

"Got hhhere -- innn timmme?" It was, Aziraphale reflected, downright _infuriating_ not being able to speak.

"Uh... Didn't want to alarm you, but... let's just say it's a good thing that it didn't start burning? I'm a bit surprised it didn't. Angels and demon venom don't generally mix."

"Whattt shhhould it have done?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley was right; normally occult and ethereal energies do not mix, and tended to hurt (in the excruciating pain type of way) when they come in contact with each other.

Crowley looked embarrassed, but started explaining anyway.

"With my claws I can scratch you on this and the other plane, so that's why you were bleeding ichor too. Usually if I get someone they have... ah... a bit of a stronger reaction than you did? And the fear or anger or adrenaline feeds into it, makes it work faster. In an angel the venom works a bit like hellfire coals; it would have burned your true form from the inside out. In a demon it makes them more... suggestable? Makes them weaker to any miracles I perform. If I - If I had bit you" he gulped, considering the possible outcome, "I am pretty sure it would have forced your corporation to react like it was panicking, even if you weren't... That's what it does on demons, but I don't know about angels... I don't know if I could have stopped it if I had bitten you, too."

"But you didn't," Aziraphale reminded the demon. "You stopped yourself almost immediately. No harm done."

" _Some_ harm done, angel!" Crowley protested. "I don't know what miracle Someone sent us, but if you hadn't been in shock about it? If you had panicked or realized what was happening? I could have _killed_ you!" 

"I wasn't _that_ out of it, Crowley," Aziraphale replied, a bit offended. "I just knew you were there and taking care of it."

"What??" Crowley looked stunned.

"Really now. Did you think I didn't _notice_ or _remember_ that you had cut me? Or _see_ the ichor? Ichor doesn't come out of corporations, Crowley, not unless the ethereal form is fairly injured. I simply... _also_ knew that you were working on the solution, and seemed rather confident in your ability to solve it." Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times, eyes wide. "I trust you, Crowley. I rather thought you knew that."

Crowley looked as though he didn't know what to say.

"'I trust you too, Aziraphale,'" Aziraphale prompted cheekily. Crowley looked incredibly offended.

"What?! Of _course_ I trust you too. 'I trust you too, Aziraphale.' Except for when you sneak up on me and try to murder me."

"I was hardly trying to murder you. And I seem to recall that the opposite was a bit closer to the truth, don't you?"

"Ngk -- you can't pin that on me! I'm a Sssnake! You can't sneak up on a sssnake and not exssspect to be --" he waved his hand about in the air, seemingly forgetting the word.

"Scratched?" Aziraphale said mildly.

"Bit." Crowley scowled. "Snakes don't scratch."

"You did..."

"That'ssss different. _I'm_ different."

"Oh, of course, my mistake." Aziraphale said. "I probably wouldn't be able to sneak up on some other snake anyway. Just the scratchy kind."

Crowley glared at Aziraphale on the floor, sniffed and said with little heat: "I should have just left you for dead."


	5. Prompt 2: Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale opens a box in 1931 and gets a demonic collar stuck on his neck. Even though they are not on speaking terms at the moment, Aziraphale goes to see Crowley, looking for a little demonic assist. But who made the collar to begin with? And what does it even DO?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set this one in 1931 (for reasons to soon become obvious), so this is in the middle of their Not Speaking phase after the Holy Water exchange in 1882. They both think the other is mad at them (still). Just a refresher and some context! :)

Aziraphale barely dared to breath (though he strictly didn't need to, the anticipation felt the same), staring down at the chest in front of him. One Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had recently passed away, and had left specific instructions to his wife and medium, Jean Doyle (Jeannie, to her friends and ethereal beings she corresponded with) that this chest _not_ be opened under any circumstances, and instead be bequeathed unto Aziraphale.

Arthur had, of course, known to some extent that Aziraphale was not fully human; that he had suspected supernatural abilities. Arthur also had held a rather long grudge against Aziraphale as far as the angel knew, given the rather vigorous popularity of his Sherlock series despite Arthur's best efforts to kill the character off. _Perhaps_ if he had agreed to give (or even sell) a certain angel a certain set of first editions, well... well then perhaps that particular blessing of prosperity and success would have been avoided.

To be sure, such genius in writing should be promoted and supported, regardless of whether the author would very much rather spend his time contemplating Spiritualism and giving lectures. Plus, Aziraphale couldn't risk the man sharing his findings of Aziraphale's identity and occupation. Not his ethereal occupation of course, but that a possible _angel_ ran a bookshop in Soho? There would have been mobs at his door, and they all would have wanted to buy something. Unacceptable.

So it had come to pass that a man was blessed with something rather resembling a curse to him (they really are rather similar in base structure when you get down to it), and a grudge was held. A grudge was held _despite_ the rather obvious way out: A few books shipped to a shop in Soho. Not terribly difficult.

But apparently Arthur's grudge did not hold sway over him in the face of death, if he deigned to send Aziraphale this crate by the end. Surely it was the books he had been coveting. This was a gesture that Aziraphale was willing to condone, and might even send the family a bit of a standard blessing, no side-effects included after he had cataloged the small collection.

So it was that an Aziraphale stood over a small chest in his bookshop in Soho in 1931, barely daring to breath. Ripe with anticipation, he opened the padlock (Jeannie had been kind enough to send the key with her letter explaining the situation), and swung open the lid. Inside were several items wrapped in muslin. One looked like a stack of books, and Aziraphale reached for that one first, not noticing the letter tucked to the side with Arthur's telltale signature at the bottom. (The letter, he would later discover, warned him immediately of the danger he was in, and request that he dispose of the object soon to be in question.)

He picked up the stack and lay it on the coffee table and pulled the fabric back. On top of a pile of books (yes, those first editions he had so... well, angels don't _lust after_ so much as.... _chastely desire)_ was a dusty, tarnished gold circlet. The circlet seemed to have some sort of runes engraved in it, and there was some sort of muted demonic power coming off of it.

Aziraphale picked it up gently, taking the rather small amount of power emanating from the circlet as a sign it could be safely handled. He dusted it off and held it to his face to read the runes. One of them was distorted by something that hadn't come off on the first pass, and Aziraphale ran his thumb over it, trying to clear off the smudge. It still didn't budge, so he licked his thumb and wiped it more forcefully. As soon as his finger touched the circlet, it grew warm and shifted in Aziraphale's hands. Surprised, Aziraphale dropped the circlet, and watched in shock as it came to life. Something very much resembling a snake dropped to the floor. Instantly it began crawling up his leg and torso to wrap snugly around his neck and solidify into the circlet again.

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said, and pulled his hands to his neck to try and unclasp the thing. It was smooth all the way around, and no amount of pulling would get it off, even with Aziraphale's not inconsiderable strength. It didn't seem to be doing anything to his corporation or his ethereal form apart from a spot of nausea and a slight pressure behind his eyes, so after three quarters of an hour trying every sort of releasing and banishing spell he could think of - even those specifically targeting demonic relics - to no avail, he decided he needed some insider knowledge. Maybe there was some demonic secret that was the key to unclasping the dratted thing. Fortunately, Aziraphale had - well, at least a _tentative_ alliance with a demon, if they could put past arguments aside. It had been decades since the duck pond, surely they could move past it.

Aziraphale put on his waistcoat and a stiff upper lip; Just because he was sure that Crowley would prefer to put the past aside as he was willing to do, it didn't mean he could expect him to do so gracefully. He _was_ a demon after all, the literal definition of lacking Grace. As such, as he crossed town at a smart pace, he contemplated what he would say to Crowley. He wanted to avoid letting his malaise and nausea color the tone he set, so he ran several scenarios in his head.

He would _not_ apologize, as much as it was in his nature. He did not feel _sorry_ about denying the demon something that could kill him in an instant, should anything even remotely go wrong. He would... he would start with "I need your help" and then explain the situation. Best leave all the players out of it, though. As soon as anyone brought up Sir Conan, inevitably Houdini came up, and Aziraphale did not have the patience today to withstand Crowley's ribbing of Aziraphale's fascination with human "magic." Better to start with "I received a box from a friend who passed away," and leave it at that. Just "I opened a box and there was a circlet and it came to life and now I am stuck." Crowley would undoubtedly ask questions; what did it look like at first, how did it move, what did you do before it came alive, what did it look like _when_ it moved, etc.

Aziraphale stopped in the street, realization hitting him.

_Crowley._ This was _Crowley's_ doing! The circlet turned into a snake as it was activated, and _who_ was the snake demon? Oh, when Aziraphale got his hands on Crowley he would be sorry! This was almost undoubtedly a plot to get back at Aziraphale, and while he knew better than to expect something other than pettiness from a demon, he was a bit astounded the lengths to which Crowley had gone to get back at him! Involving a human and tricking them into exposing Aziraphale to this trinket! Honestly.

So it was that Aziraphale marched up to Crowley's door and banged on it until Crowley appeared with a scowl on his face (probably preparing to snap at whoever was making such a racket).

"Angel?" he said, looking confused.

"You will apologize to me right this instant! I've had it up to here with your shenanigans and I demand an apology!"

"I'm -- I'm sorry... But, uh, what exactly am I sorry for?"

"I got your _gift_ by way of Arthur! I am frankly astounded that you would put someone up to this!" Crowley didn't react. Was that how he was going to play it? Fine.

"I'm not having this conversation in the foyer," Aziraphale said, "I'm coming into your flat, and you can not stop me." With that Aziraphale (who was feeling rather invincible at the moment, despite the general worsening of his nausea) pushed past Crowley, who made an aborted move to block his way, but shifted to the side as soon as he came close to actual contact. Aziraphale noticed the aversion and took offense at it; if Crowley was so upset with him still, why not just steer clear of him at all? Why go to all these lengths to throw Aziraphale's life into turmoil? Simply to bask in his misfortune?

Aziraphale walked down the hallway to the den and turned about the room. There were several seats, but they all seemed to be covered in plants or gadgets of some sort. Aziraphale didn't want to know what the demon was up to, so he simply turned around and said, "Tell me where to sit." (He may be mad at the demon, but he was not _impolite_. He would sit wherever Crowley preferred, wherever moving things would make the least impact.

"Uhh... sit... sit there." Crowley gestured to an ottoman that had a single plant on it. Aziraphale picked the plant up and handed to Crowley, who took it, looking a little at a loss. Aziraphale took pity at the look, assuming the whole situation might be a lot. "Go," he said, "go ahead and put that where it belongs. I can wait until you come back here."

Crowley didn't speak, but turned on his heel and walked to the other room. Probably still angry or reeling from Airaphale barging in. Though in Aziraphale's defense, Crowley didn't exactly put up any resistance to the situation.

Crowley returned and Aziraphale told him to sit, too, which he did, still mute.

"Now tell me why you did this."

"I... ah... you told me to .. to sit...? I thought... I dunno, you asked."

Aziraphale felt his anger mounting again, relative to the severity of his slowly growing headache. If Crowley was going to be obtuse about it, then he very well should have foreseen the outcome.

"Really now, Crowley. I am asking why you went to all these lengths to get back at me. I want you to tell me the truth. Did you instill this sense of 'spirituality' in Sir Doyle?"

"Arthur Conan Doyle?! No! He was more your lot than mine! I didn't do anything to him."

"I said the _truth_ Crowley. Tell me the truth. What did you to do Arthur Doyle?"

"N-nothing, angel! Nothing direct at least. I put him in touch with that Hungarian bloke years ago? The one with the tricks that look like magic. Proper mischief that, and I thought it might make Doyle leave you alone already, if he thought it was all just sleight of hand."

Aziraphale had not known that. Crowley had tried to distract Arthur from his rampage of spirituality? To help Aziraphale's feud with the human?

"Then what did you do to Jeannie Doyle?"

"Nothing! I don't even know who that is!"

"Crowley, I demand you tell me why you did this to me! I want the truth and I want to know it now!"

"I--I'm.... I'mmm fffond of you angel. IIII-ww-ant you happy." Crowley gasped, looking as if he was in pain. Confusion flitted across his face and he looked up at Aziraphale with accusing eyes. "What -- what did you just do to me?"

"What?" Aziraphale asked, taken by surprise at the change in tone. "What did _I_ do to _you_? Tell me what you did to me first!" (Aziraphale didn't know what he did to Crowley, but it was the principle of the thing. He had asked first, after all. And "I'm fond of you" is hardly an acceptable reason to imprison someone in a magical collar.)

"I didn't do anything to you! Now stop doing that and... and tell me how you did that!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Angel, are you _compelling_ me right now? When did... how could you _do_ that to me!?" Crowley looked hurt. Truly, genuinely hurt, and a little bit afraid of Aziraphale. "And what on Earth are you doing that you are just... compelling me and I didn't realize it? I should have felt you pushing on me at least. Angelic power'll do that, and you should---" Aziraphale interrupted him.

"Crowley I really don't know what you are going on about. I demand you stop at once" (Crowley stopped speaking, mid-word) "and calm down." Aziraphale took a breath himself. "Relax." (Crowley inhaled deeply, relaxed his shoulders, and his fidgeting all but stopped.)

"Now tell me exactly what is going on. I don't want to hear any nonsense, any _anything_ about compelling. I want to know why you locked me in this collar. Calmly. Just give me answers. No need to be uptight about it." Aziraphale's headache was raging by this point. It felt like an icepick to the bridge of his nose. He was, to put it lightly, Not in the Mood.

Crowley's face looked as though he wanted to leap from the chair and start pacing, furious at being told to sit still. But he remained seated and said in a languorous tone: "I am being comp--" He stopped with a grimace, taking a deep steadying breath before starting again. "I have to follow orders. I didn't lock you in any collar."

"You may not have technically done it, Crowley, but it turned into a snake so I know it was you at the heart of it." Crowley's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. "Tell me what the circlet does."

"I don't know what circlet you mean," Crowley said, a bit dopily. Aziraphale had lost his patience.

"This collar, Crowley! The one currently stuck about my neck. The one that has given me indigestion for the last three hours, and that turned into a snake the moment I cleaned it off! Tell me why you would make something like this!" Aziraphale pulled his shirt collar down to display the circlet angrily.

Crowley leaned forward - swayed forward a bit more like it - and pulled his glasses off to get a better look. He didn't normally take them off so readily, but maybe he needed them off to recognize the piece in this light. Aziraphale noticed his eyes were fully golden, the sclera absent. Relaxed, indeed. (Or predatory? Aziraphale was not entirely sure.)

"Well? Why would you make something like this? And then leave it laying about for anyone to accidentally take possession of?"

"I.. I would make something like that if I wanted to c--ccomp-- If I wanted to take power from someone. Make them do what I wanted. I'd leave it about if I wanted to create discord." Crowley stuttered through his speech, then leaned back to his mostly-upright position. A vacant sort of look came across his face. Completely relaxed like the cat that ate the canary. Aziraphale's head pounded.

Aziraphale couldn't fathom the type of personality that would so easily admit to a foul plot like this. This was _not_ the Crowley he had known for millenia. Something had changed since they last met.

"Crowley. I want you to tell me what has made you like this. When did you become so... so comfortable with doing things like this?!"

"When you told me to, Angel." Came the reply.

Aziraphale blinked. Had... had he misread their argument over Holy Water? He had been rather certain that Crowley was mad but not... not changed?

"Was it the Holy Water? Did that make you like this?" Crowley shook his head. "I most certainly did not tell you to become this sort of... of _fiend_! I thought you were -" Azirphale interrupted himself. If Crowley was blaming Aziraphale for his change in personality, it as about time Aziraphale set him straight. "Now listen to me, listen well, and take this to heart: I don't know what made you like this, Crowley, but I will not stand by and say nothing. You used to be good - or good enough. Secretly kind and caring, and it was enough to make me, an angel, want to do what I could to foster that bit of Good in you. However, if you are going to sit here and tell me that _I_ made you turn into some sort of perverted version of yourself, then you had better think twice. Only someone who is truly terrible and monstrous would stoop to justify making a circlet like this, and it is a reflection of how... how abhorrent you are that you did so."

Aziraphale expected an outburst. He expected Crowley to jump to his feet and argue with him like he had every time before. But instead he was silent for a long moment before Aziraphale noticed the blotchiness to his face. In the dim light he finally noticed tear tracks on Crowley's face and his mood did an about face.

"Crowley? Crowley are you alright?" He shook his head. "Well, no need to cry now," Aziraphale tried. He was feeling awfully guilty about how cruel he had been, but, well, Crowley had been asking for it, hadn't he? Laying traps and creating something so ... demonic? And Aziraphale's head hurt _so very_ much from the demonic energy radiating off the circlet. He had to do something to remove it fast, because he wasn't sure what would happen if the circlet did whatever it was intended to do.

"Oh, do stop crying. We can sort this circlet and then I can leave and you'll never have to see me again."Aziraphale sighed. "Just... just ignore everything I've said up to now, and tell me how to be rid of this thing."

Crowley pulled himself together and stopped crying, sitting a bit taller. (As if the concept of never having to see Aziraphale again perked him up?) The fire seemed to be back in his eyes and his posture as he said "Tell me to take it off you."

"What?" Aziraphale asked. Had it not been implied that he wanted this collar off? If the end of this game Crowley was playing at was just to have Aziraphale ask him to take it off... he must be missing something. "Crowley, what will happen to me if you take this off? I want the truth. I just want the truth."

"You'll stop being able to control demons."

"What? I can't control demons!"

Crowley looked pained and... apologetic? "You can. It's what the circlet does."

"Crowley I want to know _exactly_ what this circlet does right now."

"Oh thank Sa-- Go-- Someone, I thought you would never ask." Crowley began, sounding more like himself than he had all night. "That circlet grants the wearer the ability to compel demons and some of the worse humans to do what they command. It's like a compulsion rune in a devil's trap, but the wearer's voice becomes the spell. The more someone uses it to compel someone, the more corruption leeches into them from the circlet, and the more likely they are to become one of Hell's get."

"You said _you_ made this!?" But Crowley was shaking his head.

"No. You asked me _why_ I would make something, and you demanded the truth, so I had to tell you a reason I would make something like that." Aziraphale was running their exchanges through his head. Had he asked that?

"But it turns into a snake!"

"IT DOES NOT," Crowley said, sounding incredibly offended. "It turns into a _worm_ , angel. A very big worm maybe, but _not_ a snake. That's got Bune written all over it. He's all worms and he's got the power to control other demons."

Aziraphale was not familiar with the demon, but Crowley seemed certain of it, so he was willing to take his word.

"And if I ask you to take if off me you will? You can?"

"You can't ask. It's part of the spell on it. You have to command me to."

"Oh, well that doesn't seem quite right... I've already done enough of that for tonight, don't you think?" Aziraphale had been running the night through his head, and he was discomfited by how many direct orders he had forced upon Crowley.

"Aziraphale, if you don't command me to take it off of you, I can't do anything to it. Bune has the power to control demons - even me - but if you command me to do it, then it'll create a feedback loop, kinda. I think." Aziraphale hesitated. "Aargh, look, you already tried and failed to take it off yourself. Plus you've had it on for awhile now; It's got to be effecting you." It was. Aziraphale's stomach felt as if the insides were curdling, and his head was pounding so dramatically that he was a actively avoiding moving it too quickly. "The longer it's on you I think the longer it has to try and corrupt you. You have to tell me to take it off you."

"You said... you said you did something because you were ... fond of me? You want me to be happy?"

Crowley's ears pinked.

"Er.. I might have said something like that..." Aziraphale eyed him, asking more with his eyes (not his voice. He would be choosing his words more carefully from now on.). Under the combined weight of Aziraphale's no-nonsense look, and his obvious painful posture, Crowley caved. "I don't... I'm not... Can we _not_ talk about this with that collar on you? You demanded truth." Crowley hurried to correct himself. "Not that I would lie to you! I... aahck, I don't like saying.... certain... things. You have to know that. Can't it be enough that... you know? Don't make me say it, too... Again."

Aziraphale supposed Crowley had a point. It wasn't fair of him to demand something of Crowley he wouldn't normally give. The truth was already out, as it were, and it wasn't as though Aziraphale hadn't already known to some extent how Crowley felt.

"Crowley, I demand that you remove this collar from me."

:About time," he said, and reached up with hands that had sprouted scales around the fingertips. "Just a bit of demonic protection," he explained, and then circlet was gone. It sat in Crowley's hands, as lifeless and dusty as it had been in the box, no sign of where Aziraphale had cleaned it off. He said as much.

"Bit of a right bastard to punish someone for curiosity, Bune. Maybe I will go have a chat with him; Curiosity is _my_ thing."

Aziraphale's headache and nausea didn't evaporate with the removal of the circlet, but he supposed it would take some time to purge the corruption from his form.

"Crowley," Aziraphale said tentatively. He felt like a heel, and needed to right some of the wrongs he had done his friend tonight. "I need to apologize. To clarify. I didn't mean any of those things about you being abhorrent. At minimum I would never have demanded you take them to heart and tell you such awful lies if I had known you would be compelled to do so. And at the heart of it, I truly don't think those things of you."

"It's alright," Crowley said, voice low. Aziraphale still hadn't looked at him; he was too ashamed. "It was almost definitely the corruption from the collar getting to you."

"Nevertheless," Aziraphale took a steadying breath for his confession, "I knew that you would take it poorly, even if I wasn't controlling you. I'm sincerely sorry."

"Aziraphale, please look at me?" How could Aziraphale deny him a request, in light of the wringer he had put him through tonight? "Aziraphale, I know you. I know just how far you will go to remind me I'm -- to remind me I'm ... good." He said it like a secret, like someone might be listening and a trap would be sprung. "At least a little bit. Maybe deep down... I also know exactly what bastardy little line you won't cross with your hedonism and your tricky little blessings when you're yourself. You... yes, alright, you crossed that line tonight -- but that's how I know it wasn't you in control. You don't have anything to apologize for."

"I dare say I disagree, but I can live with that. And if I have to go about reminding you a bit more frequently that you are all those four letter words as penance, I can live with that, too." Crowley's ears pinked again.

"Please don't. Or we can just go back to not talking for another 60 years?"

"I'd really rather not," Aziraphale said.

"To be honest? Me either."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I highly recommend re-reading or skimming this, because I had a LOT of fun with dangling participles and implied double-speak making Aziraphale pretty sure he was asking one thing, but Crowley being forced to answer another. Two entirely different conversations going on.
> 
> If you are a headcanon-er, I suggest you go take a look at the timeline of Arthur Conan Doyle's life, and see what would be fun to insert Aziraphale and/or Crowley into.


	6. Prompt 3: Manhandled/Forced to Knees/Gunpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little light on miracles at the moment, Aziraphale insists that when their dinner gets interrupted by a band of robbers, they play along... But can Crowley keep it together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as whumpy as I thought this prompt would get me, but I have No Ragrats.

It was right around the time that they had been handed dessert (triple-scooped raspberry sorbet with jasmine mousseline macarons) that things went pear-shaped.

"Everyone put their hands up, this is a robbery!"

The rest of the patrons of the restaurant let out noises of protest, but in light of the guns being waved around, followed orders without too much fuss.

"We want everyone to put their hands on the table, and when we get to you, you're going to empty your wallets and put all your valuables in the bag. Watches, jewelry, everything."

Aziraphale eyed Crowley, who was looking like he wanted to put the robbers in their place, and subtly caught his eye.

"Too many miracles, Crowley. We have to at least play along for now." Crowley wrinkled his nose in distaste, but relaxed his posture and put his hands on the table. Neither of them could afford to spare another miracle at the moment, their respective Head Offices were itemizing every snap of fingers in preparation of the coming of age of the antichrist. If Crowley decided to attack, then at the very least one of them would have to miracle away the memories of the thirty-some-odd humans in the restaurant of a snake-demon disposing of 5 thugs.

When a pair of the thugs (one collecting, one threatening) got to their table they held out the bag to Aziraphale first.

"Give us your stuff"

Aziraphale put on his best behaving voice and told them politely, "Unfortunately, I don't have any belongings of monetary value to give you." Angels didn't carry _money_ , neither he nor Crowley did. They just... had it when they needed it. This was not one of those times.

"Don't play games! You're eating at this prissy restaurant; we know you have cash. Now give it to us!" Another thug wandered over, looming in the background.

"I do not. You are welcome to believe what you will, but I do not carry any cash or currency on me at all."

Thug number 3 eyed Aziraphale's ring and gestured at it with his gun.

"Give us that, then." At this point the tension came back into Crowley's shoulders. If his glasses were off, Aziraphale was certain his eyes would have gone fully snake, and by the pinch of his mouth he was possibly hiding some larger-than-average canines. Aziraphale kicked him under the table to get his attention, and mouthed for him to calm him down before turning his attention back to the thugs.

"I shan't," he said simply. "It's not something I can possibly part with." (He was telling the truth; his ring was given to him with this corporation as a way to store his halo for everyday use. He was certainly not about to leave it in the hands of some humans, and he was fairly certain that even if he had, the ring would just return to him like a bad penny.)

This, however, enraged the thugs, who decided to teach Aziraphale a lesson. Aziraphale - still trying to avoid miracles and too polite to _not_ pretend he was at the gunman's mercy - allowed himself to be grasped by the lapels and pulled roughly to his feet. The thug was not graceful in this act, and as he threw aside the chair to get Aziraphale upright, he knocked over the water glass on the table, and Aziraphale watched in dismay as the raspberry sorbet fell to the floor at their feet.

"Don't be a hero, just give us your valuables and no one has to get hurt." The thug was only a few scant inches taller than Aziraphale, but he had the bravado of a man who felt entirely in control of the situation.

"I told you already, I don't have anything I can give you," Aziraphale said primly, voice a little tight about the sorbet and now the inevitable wrinkling of his jacket. Still seated at the table, Crowley's hands were digging into the tablecloth with a bit more force than was strictly human.

"Stop playing around and give us the ring!" The man started shoving and pushing Aziraphale around, trying to intimidate him. Aziraphale lost his footing briefly on the overturned sorbet cup (ironically enough it was the steady grasp of the thug that kept him from tripping entirely), at which point Crowley leapt to his feet.

"Crowley, don't!" Aziraphale urged. Crowley was breathing raggedly, nearly hissing; his hands were clenching and unclenching as he fought transforming. At the neckline of his shirt Aziraphale could see a few stray scales peeking through. Crowley was clearly on the verge of taking matters into his own hands, which that was the opposite of what they needed right now, thugs with guns be dam-- well, not _damned_ if Aziraphale could help it, but the sentiment was the same. "Crowley calm down! I will _handle_ this."

"Oh, your boyfriend doesn't like this, does he?" Thug 2 jumped in. "Well what's he going to to about it?" He walked over to where Crowley was struggling to regain his composure and challenged him. " _Nothing_. _At. All._ We're the ones with the guns here, folks, and you had better remember that." He gave Crowley a push with the tip of the gun and Crowley hissed, low and predatory and challenging in response. The thug must have thought it was a hiss of pained compliance, because he stepped back with an overconfident swagger.

"I told you already that I cannot give you this ring and that I do not carry anything of value with me. I must insist you continue your pilfering elsewhere"

By this point the other two burglars had caught wind of the situation, and the woman who had been watching the room from the doorway walked over.

"Lance, by the door. Justin, over there." The thug holding the bag of valuables dropped it on the table next to the woman who had just established herself as the leader, and wandered to the post she had just left. The thug who had threatened Crowley stepped further back and brought his gun up to watch the four of them from a distance. "Now what seems to be the problem here, Joe?" the woman continued, sauntering over to Aziraphale.

"These two won't give us their stuff, Chrissy. Tall, dark, and moody over there looked like he wanted to give us a hard time, but Justin took care of that. Blondie here seems to think that he can keep that one in line by telling him to calm down; thinks he can 'handle' this."

"Hmm," she said, eyeing Aziraphale and Crowley carefully. "I think you are poking the wrong bear, Joe. Maybe we'd do better to let tall and dark get a little upset. _Maybe_ we **give** him something to be upset about. Something like --"

Aziraphale had been watching Crowley and trying to tell him with his eyes that he had _better_ not do anything rash, so he wasn't prepared when the woman brought him to his knees. She put a gun to his head and turned to look at Crowley.

"Your boyfriend is going to die, unless you pony up and give us your valuables _right now._ I'm going to count to ten. One."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was barely keeping it together, practically vibrating out of his skin into his demon aspect.

"Two"

"Crowley, do NOT. We'll figure this out some other way."

"Three _._ "

"Angelll" Crowley whined, clearly holding onto his humanity by a teetering thread.

"No! _Absolutely_ _not_. No more miracles, and that includes you and whatever cleanup we'd have to do."

"But Azsiraphale," Crowley tried again, voice a bit deeper betraying the demonic energy trying to burst out of him. "Yourr ssssssorbet."

"Four."

"What?" Aziraphale looked down to his knees -- which were firmly resting in the melted sorbet. "Oh..."

"Five."

The melted _raspberry_ sorbet which would most certainly _not_ come out without a miracle _,_ and they _weren't allowed_ to do any more miracles just now.

"Six."

"Crowley?"

"Azsssiraphale?"

"Seven."

"I don't want anyone dead."

"Done," he agreed readily.

" _Eight._ "

"And no gnawing on them, it will be hard enough to explain the rest as it is."

"Grrrrghh, fine!"

" _Nine!_ "

"I'd like to keep clean up to _one or two_ miracles, if you please?"

Crowley nodded vehemently, and Aziraphale sighed.

"Very well then, go ahead."

Chrissy never got to ten, so there was no way of really knowing is she would have pulled the trigger. Instead, Aziraphale watched from his knees as Crowley pulled off his glasses, pupils thin and predatory stripes of black, and stepped up to Chrissy with a look of pure wrath on his face. He began to let his hold on his human form go.

"Miiiiiine," he said, pointing sharply to Aziraphale, who rolled his eyes, but allowed it. Crowley had explained how possessive demons could be of things they liked or cared for. Really, it was charming, in a certain light, that Crowley had decided instinctively that Aziraphale was 'his.' (Aziraphale could hardly be upset about it, as it was roughly the same time he had realized he had unknowingly decided that he was Guardian Angel to Crowley as well as the humans. Some things like Guarding and Possessing were built into angels and demons; best not to make a fuss about it.)

" **You** do nottt touccssshhh what isssss miiinnne." Crowley's voice was discordant voices speaking in unison. He tilted his head and broke into a horrible grin, with far too many, far too sharp teeth. His scales raced up over his face and he brought his clawed fingers up to take the gun from Chrissy before manifesting a bit of hellfire to melt the weapon and drop it.

" ** _Now_**..." the demon that was sometimes Crowley said, "let **_me_** give **_you_** something to be upset about..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real question is: why does Aziraphale have to tell Crowley no gnawing? WHAT is the story behind that?
> 
> The other real question is: can anyone guess what the final singer -- uh, thug's -- name is? Any 80/90s babies in the house?


	7. Tag on to Manhandled (ch 6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot bunny wanted some more fluff, so here ya go.

Two minutes thirty seven seconds later Aziraphale picked himself up off the ground and wandered over to where Crowley was crouched over the last goon he had disabled. He was still seemingly far into his demonic form; more predator than not.

"Four miracles by my count," Aziraphale said, kneeling back down by him. "One for the memories, two for the damages, three for my sorbet, and I daresay I may need to miracle you somehow to bring you back this time."

Crowley responded in posture but not voice, which Aziraphale took as a sign he was right that he may need a bit of prompting to remember himself.

Aziraphale reached out and brushed a hand gently across Crowley's nape.

"Crowley, _do_ come back dear."

Crowley pulled his shoulder a way from Aziraphale jerkily, but Aziraphale simply sighed and settled closer to Crowley.

"Too turned around in there?" Aziraphale asked. "No matter, let's sort you."

Aziraphale closed his eyes and opened his ethereal eyes to take a glance at Crowley's true form. A bit intertwined there; jumbled where the snake aspect ended and the demonic essence flitted around the seams and edges. All told it was a rather knotted mess quite literally around the heart of who Crowley was when he had control over his aspects.

"Well that won't do," Aziraphale muttered, and reached out with his ethereal form and his corporation to brush against Crowley. Crowley twisted a bit at the contact but did not pull fully away. Aziraphale gently pushed a thread of his essence in past the net of confusion along the outside of his true form. It was an incredibly intimate and frankly dangerous thing to do, inserting one's essence into another - particularly that of an opposing force like a demon. Aziraphale had no concerns, however, as he trusted Crowley implicitly, and it would appear all aspects of Crowley felt the same towards Aziraphale, since the various warring aspects of his being did not reject the thread of power as it worked its way through the layers down to the core of his being.

"There we are. Feel that? Follow that back to me." Aziraphale focused on keeping that line of power between them open, ignoring the long-neutered instinct to pull away when he felt the demonic essence latch onto his energy. It was _Crowley_ for Someone's sake, and as much as it may not necessarily be a pleasant experience to mesh the two opposing forces together -- felt a bit like the otherworldly equivalent of slick and slimy to be enveloped with the viscous sense of demonic energy — he wasn’t about to pull away from _his_ demon.

Ever so slowly Aziraphale felt as Crowley traced his thread of energy back towards Aziraphale. Once he was far enough returned Aziraphale extracted himself from the demon's essence and opened his corporal eyes, returning to the single plane. It took a few more moments for Crowley to make his way back enough to be able to open his own eyes, and when he did they were still a bit more snakeish than he usually preferred.

"There you are... that's right."

"'Ziraphale...?"

"Yes, I'm here. Come now and right yourself a bit more. That's it, here you go..."

"Ssssorry," Crowley mumbled over and around his still-serpentine teeth and tongue. He blinked hazily a couple times before focusing more clearly on Aziraphale.

"Nothing to be sorry about. Are you back with me now?"

"Mmmm" he acceded.

"Let me see." A quick glance over of Crowley confirmed this. Claws, eyes, teeth, tongue, and stray scales were, if not gone entirely, reduced dramatically towards Crowley's standard fare. Aziraphale brought his hand up to cup Crowley's cheek and looked him in the eyes with an awful lot of Love brimming in his own eyes.

Seeing the adoration displayed there, Crowley attempted to fill the silence with an explanation.

"I'm sssorry angel," he said. "I jussst... I get a bit demonic when you are involved." Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at that. Crowley stumbled and stuttred a little. "N-no. I mean, that..." he hissed in disastifaction, "you _know_ what I mean. You're _mine_ angel, and I get... Possession is a very base instinct, okay?? I don't like to see you in distresssss.... and ssssometimes it is bessst to let that bit of me out."

Aziraphale enjoyed teasing Crowley like this sometimes. Saying nothing, and letting the thing twist himself in circles trying to justify himself and his demonic wiles simultaneously until he admitted to something Nice about himself, like how much he loved Aziraphale. The demon sometimes hardly realized he was saying it, which was just as enjoyable.

"I know, dear. And I must admit, I do enjoy seeing you come to my defense sometimes."

"Would be better if I didn't always need you to bring me back," he grimaced.

"Not at all," Aziraphale said. "I have no doubt that you would have been able to make your own way back after you had calmed down. But what's the benefit of having a guardian angel to guide you back if you never use them? It's my _privilege_ and my _joy_ to be able to help bring you back faster."

"Well, when you put it like that..."

"I do put it like that."

"Well, then... then nevermind then. I guess.” He looked confused.

Aziraphale took pity on the demon. He was still a bit too cloudy to realize quite how pleased with him Aziraphale was, let alone put up a token fight against being called nice names. Aziraphale could save all that for later, when they were in the bookshop or at another restaurant over a second (first, considering the tragic demise of the sorbet) dessert. Riling up Crowley was nearly as good as dessert anyway, so Aziraphale wasn’t too, too put out about the first.

”Let’s go, shall we?” Aziraphale said instead and held out his hand for Crowley to take. Crowley clasped it and Aziraphale pulled him up from the floor and dusted him off a bit. (Not that there was dust, but habits were habits, and he would be forgiven for wanting to confirm the demon was fully intact before proceding.)

”I hear there’s a take-away patisserie that has been doing wonders with hazlenuts and mousseline.” Aziraphale gestured for Crowley to lead the way, which he did. All the better because it left Aziraphale to walk behind as rear guard. As much as Crowley took his possession of Aziraphale very seriously, so Aziraphale felt about his guardianship of Crowley. Under no circumstances would his demon be harmed today, not after proving himself the hero here.

And later, when Crowley was fully comfortable in his skin again, Aziraphale would pout in his general direction _just so_ , and Crowley would fix his trousers just the way Aziraphale liked without ever having to be explicitly asked. It would be _nice_ , Aziraphale thought with a flash of a cunning grin. He would certainly have to say as much when the time came.


End file.
